Data Clustering Algorithms and Applications First Edition Charu C. Aggarwal
Data Clustering Algorithms and Applications First Edition Charu C. Aggarwal
Data Clustering Algorithms and Applications First Edition Charu C. Aggarwal
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5. Data Clustering Algorithms and Applications First
Edition Charu C. Aggarwal Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Charu C. Aggarwal, Chandan K. Reddy, (eds.)
ISBN(s): 9781315373515, 1315373513
Edition: First edition
File Details: PDF, 12.52 MB
Year: 2014
Language: english
6. K15510
DATA
CLUSTERING
DATA CLUSTERING
Algorithms and Applications
Aggarwal
•
Reddy
Research on the problem of clustering tends to be fragmented across the
pattern recognition, database, data mining, and machine learning communities.
Addressing this problem in a unified way, Data Clustering: Algorithms and
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• Domains, covering methods used for different domains of data, such as
categorical data, text data, multimedia data, graph data, biological data,
stream data, uncertain data, time series clustering, high-dimensional
clustering, and big data
• Variations and Insights, discussing important variations of the clustering
process, such as semisupervised clustering, interactive clustering,
multiview clustering, cluster ensembles, and cluster validation
In this book, top researchers from around the world explore the characteristics
of clustering problems in a variety of application areas. They also explain how
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the quality of the underlying clusters—through supervision, human intervention,
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Data Mining
Chapman & Hall/CRC
Data Mining and Knowledge Discovery Series
Chapman & Hall/CRC
Data Mining and Knowledge Discovery Series
K15510_Cover.indd 1 7/24/13 2:46 PM
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eBook.
Title: The Good Englishwoman
Author: Orlo Williams
Release date: October 6, 2018 [eBook #58041]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by MFR, Les Galloway and the Online
Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOOD
ENGLISHWOMAN ***
32. Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation
have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
The half title immediately before the title page has been omitted.
33. THE
GOOD ENGLISHWOMAN
BY
ORLO WILLIAMS, M.C.
Author of “Vie de Boheme: A Patch of Romantic Paris,”
“The Life and Letters of John Rickman,” etc.
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS LTD.
ST MARTIN’S STREET
MDCCCCXX
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
THE DUNEDIN PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH
34. TO BETTY
WHEN SHE IS OLDER
WITH THE SUPERFLUOUS INJUNCTION
NOT TO TAKE THIS BOOK
TOO SERIOUSLY
36. CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.The Man in the Sidecar 9
II.Little Girls 29
III.Big Girls 51
IV.The English Wife 76
V.The English Mother 102
VI.The Englishwoman’s Mind 128
VII.The Englishwoman’s Manners 145
VIII.The Englishwoman and the Arts 166
IX.The Englishwoman in Society 187
X.The Englishwoman at Work 204
XI.The Englishwoman at Play 219
XII.The Englishwoman in Parliament234
38. CHAPTER I
A FEW REMARKS FROM THE MAN IN THE
SIDECAR
My uncle Joseph, a solitary man, once broke the silence of a
country walk by asserting with explosive emphasis: “I don’t see how
any man can understand women.” I assented vaguely, and he went
on: “How can we ever grasp their point of view, my dear boy, which
is so totally different from ours? How can we understand the outlook
on life of beings whose instincts, training, purpose, ambitions have
so little resemblance to ours? For my part I have given up trying: it
is a waste of time. Never let a woman flatter you into thinking that
you understand her: she is trying to make you her tool. The
Egyptians gave the Sphinx a woman’s face and they were right.
Women are so mysterious.” And the south-west wind took up his
words and whispered them to the trees, which nodded their heads
and waved their branches, rustling “mysterious, mysterious” in all
their leaves.
I do not argue with my uncle Joseph, especially on a country walk
when the south-west wind is blowing. So I took out my pipe and lit it
in spite of the south-west wind, saying to myself: “You silly wind,
you silly trees, you know nothing of wisdom. You would catch up
anything that my uncle Joseph said and make it seem important.”
And the south-west wind solemnly breathed “important” into the ear
of a little quarry, in the tone of a ripe family butler. “There is just as
much, and just as little, mystery about men and women as there is
about you. It depends how much one wants to know. So far as there
is any mystery, as a matter of fact, it is much more on the side of
men, who are far more incalculable, far more complex than women
in their motives and reactions. But men are lazy, you silly old things,
39. and it saves a lot of trouble to invent a mystery and give it up rather
than sit down before a problem to study it. Men have thousands of
other things to think about besides women, but women, who have
not the same variety, are so devilish insistent, that they would keep
men thinking about them all their time if they could. So, in self-
defence, men have pacified the dear things by calling them
mysterious, which is highly flattering, and by giving them up for
three-quarters of their days. Uncle Joseph has probably been
arguing unsuccessfully with Aunt Georgiana, as he always will,
because he never took the trouble to master her mental and
emotional processes. But that does not prove the general truth of his
proposition. His is just the mind which grows those weeds of
everyday thought the seeds of which thoughtless south-west winds
blow about as they do the seeds of thistles. Go off and blow those
clouds away, you reverberator of commonplaces.”
Throwing up his hands with a shriek of “commonplaces,” the wind
flew up over the hill ruffling its hair as he passed.
I think I was quite right not to answer my uncle Joseph and to
rebuke the south-west wind. People are so tiresomely fond of
uttering generalisations which they do not really believe and on
which they never act. It is surely no less foolish to say that women
are complete mysteries than to say that one understands them
perfectly. Every individual understands a few men and a few women,
or life would be impossible. Besides, understanding has its degrees
which approach, but never reach, perfection. Samuel Butler
somewhere says that the process of love could only be logically
concluded by eating the loved one—a coarse way of saying that
perfect love would end in complete assimilation: it is the same with
the relation of knowledge. Happily love between human beings of
opposite sexes can exist without being pushed to this voracious
conclusion: so can understanding.
It may be true that women have quicker intuitions than men,
though only over a limited range of subjects: but men, on the other
hand, are more widely and studiously observant, besides being far
40. more interested in the attainment of truth as the result of
observation. Patient induction is, after all, an excellent substitute for
brilliant guessing. Women would be extremely disappointed if men
really acted on the “mystery” theory and took to thinking or writing
as little about woman as the majority think or write about the
problem of existence. Nothing, however, will prevent men from
talking and thinking about women, and a glance at any bookshelf
will prove that they do not always do so in complete ignorance of
their subject. Balzac, who was no magician, was not entirely beside
the mark in creating the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, and Lady Teazle
is a recognizable being. George Meredith’s Diana seems to have
human substance: Mr Shaw’s Anne in “Man and Superman” and Mr
Wells’ Anne Veronica, though founded on masculine observations,
are admitted by women to be reasonable creations. The laziness of
men, I repeat, and the vanity of women are responsible for the
legend of woman’s inviolable mystery. The laws of gravitation were a
mystery till Newton used his observation: the mystery still remains,
but the experiments of Newton and other physicists has driven it
further back. So it is with the human soul. Each one is a mystery,
but observation and familiarity can penetrate a number of its veils,
leaving only some of the intimate recesses unexplored, and even
these recesses are threatened with exposure as our knowledge of
telepathy and of the subconscious elements increases.
There are certain experiences of women which a man cannot
share, certain aspirations and fears at whose poignancy he can only
guess, certain instinctive impulses of which he is not directly
conscious: but he can surmount the barriers in some measure by the
use of his eyes and ears. If, therefore, he choose to record what his
eyes and ears tell him, he is not exceeding the limits of masculine
capacity. My uncle Joseph could hardly deplore so unpretentious a
line of approach. A mere man may be content to leave Miss Dorothy
Richardson and Miss May Sinclair delving gloomily in the jungles of
feminine psychology where he would fear to follow them, and yet
feel that, without presumption, he may hold some views about his
natural complement. The question is what views are right and what
41. are wrong. The war has changed many things, and man’s views
about his natural complement among them. Most people, with that
useful faculty of oblivion for which we thank Providence, have
forgotten what they thought in 1914: if there were such a thing as a
mental gramophone which could record their thoughts of five years
ago, they would be extremely surprised. Things that seemed absurd
then have now been taken for granted, and it is possible that many
things taken for granted then may be shown to have become
absurd. It has certainly become ridiculous to speak of the “weaker
sex,” except in a strictly muscular sense. Women have revealed
capacities for organisation and disciplined effort in large bodies,
especially in this country, for which the epithet “surprising” is but
feeble. Has this fact alone not caused a revolution of ideas? If we
have not all accepted it yet, we shall all soon have to accept the
principle that, in all but purely physical exertion, men and women
have equal potential abilities. The potential ability of women is still in
need of development, for they are starting some centuries behind
the men, but the inevitable result will be the recognition of “equal
opportunity.” To what sociological crisis this may lead, I do not know,
and as this is not a sociological treatise, I need not prophesy: but it
is an element that must count heavily in any review of old ideas.
Another element which must count is the franchise, which will, of
course, be extended in the near future till there is no inequality
between the sexes in this respect. Women are political beings with
vast possibilities of becoming a political force. They will play a more
and more important part in the history of the nation. They will dance
a new dance in the ballet of humanity. That recently so familiar
figure in a short skirt of khaki and close-fitting cap, seated firmly but
not too gracefully astride a motor bicycle rushing with its side-car,
and often its male passenger, through the traffic is more than a
phenomenon, it is a symbol. The air has whipped her cheeks pink
and blown loose a stray lock above her determined eyes. What
beauties she has of form or feature are none of them hid. She is all
the woman that the world has known, but with a new purpose and a
new poise. For good or ill she has entered the machine, and we
42. came to look on her with an indifferent and familiar eye. But what
will she do, what will she think, whither will she carry us in that side-
car of hers? To all her ancient qualities she has added a new one:
object of desire, mother of children, guardian of the hearth, mate of
man or virgin saint, she has now another manifestation, that of
fellow-combatant; some say, also of adversary. One might almost
say that, bending over the handle-bars of her machine, with her
body curved and her legs planted firmly on the footboard she mimes
the very mark of interrogation which her changes of social posture
present. A living query in khaki, she is a challenge to the prophet
and the philosopher. One who is neither will let the challenge pass,
sure only of one thing—that develop as she may and carry us where
she will, the tradition of the good Englishwoman is safe in her
keeping.
“The good Englishwoman,” an untranslatable phrase—I beseech
our French neighbours not to translate it la bonne anglaise—is an
expression which has a corresponding reality. We all know it, in our
flesh, in our bones, in our minds and in our souls. The
Englishwoman is a definite person to all of us in England: she is not
merely the female of the species living in these isles, she has a
significance in the world at large. We love her and we honour her,
but we do not often reflect what it is that we love and honour. It is a
mental occupation which might be more frequently indulged in, were
we not such indifferent reflectors. The ingenious Henry Adams, that
enlightened but pensive American, whose death has just given us
one of the most fascinating books of modern times, spent his whole
life in reflecting on his countrymen, with results which are
stimulating if not encouraging. He did not spend so much time
reflecting on his countrywomen, though he said that he owed more
to them than to any man, but his reflections on that head resolved
themselves into a question which no Englishman would formulate in
similar circumstances. Henry Adams used to invite agreeable and
witty people to dine,1 and, at an unexpected moment, to propound
to the “brightest” of the women the question: “Why is the American
woman a failure?” He meant a failure as a force rather than as an
43. individual, but it was an irritating question all the same, nor is it
surprising that it usually drew the answer: “Because the American
man is a failure.” The Englishman would be too chivalrous to ask
such a question of his guests, but he would not even formulate it.
The Englishman, even a considerably sophisticated one, could never
think of the Englishwoman as a failure, whether as an individual, a
force or an inspiration. He is bound by his experience, his upbringing
and his instincts to think of her as a success. Let us then put the
question “Why is the Englishwoman a success?” We shall get no very
good impromptu answers, nor do I suggest that “Because the
Englishman is a success” would be the correct one. We should be
the last to take so much credit to ourselves. We are justly proud of
the Englishwoman, but what is it of which we are proud? Of all the
approving epithets that have been applied to women, which do we
choose for our own? Is our pride in their beauty, their brilliance, their
courage, their wit, their tact, their energy, their endurance, their
sagacity, their skill in handicraft, their devotion to their young, their
taste in art and dress, their grace of movement, the sweetness of
their speech or the greatness of their minds? Are they only an
attraction or an independent force? Are they better mistresses or
mothers? When Henry Adams lived in this country as a young man
he found that "Englishwomen, from the educational point of view,
could give nothing until they approached forty years old. Then they
become very interesting—very charming—to the man of fifty." What
do we say to such a criticism from so acute a mind?
It is easier to ask questions than to answer them, and I propose
to shirk the harder part of the task. Questions cannot be
satisfactorily answered for other people, and, where everyone has to
make up his or her mind, the mere asking of questions is in itself an
aid to their solution. Each reader will answer the questions I have
asked in a different way: having done so, he must pass to another
consideration. We are proud of the Englishwoman, but we criticise
her, again each one of us differently. We must consider the grounds
of our criticism. She dresses badly, some will say; her hair is always
untidy, say others; foreigners assert that she is proud and stupid;
44. Englishmen, secretly glad that she is proud, try to forget that she is
poorly educated. That she walks gracefully, none will say, but as an
athlete she is second to none: it would be rash to say that her taste
in the home is remarkable, but the atmosphere of home, which not
even the most hideous decoration can kill nor the most beautiful
create, emanates from her alone. As a housewife she has her glories
and her failings. She has not the almost brutish industry of the
German nor the avaricious acuteness of the French bourgeoise; she
is, in general, neither expert in household industry nor in business.
Nevertheless, the Englishman is only really contented in a household
presided over and served by Englishwomen, and that is not only
because they understand his wants, but because they are genial and
simple, neither servile nor imperious, good comrades who do not
expect too little or exact too much. Fearless in her actions, the
Englishwoman is timid in her ideas: what she may do in the future is
incalculable, her possibilities are unbounded; but there seem to be
limits to the expansion, except by imitation, of her power of thought.
As an administrator she will find no superior, but the political
thinkers, as well as the artists, will for the most part come from
other nations. These are but random criticisms which, among others,
will occur to any mind that reflects upon the subject. They show,
once more, that the essence of the Englishwoman or of her
goodness is not a simple one. She is therefore an excellent topic for
a conversation that should be provocative and stimulating. If I
sustain one part, the reader will mentally sustain the other. Let us
continue it.
It is hardly necessary to say that any criticism of the
Englishwoman in these pages is not an attack upon her: nor is any
approbation to be considered a defence. At least I pay this much
respect to my uncle Joseph that no woman shall flatter me into
defending her: she is more than capable of doing this for herself.
But, beyond this, I quite fail to understand what a friend of mine
meant when he suggested that I should write in defence of women.
“Against whom or against what?” I asked, but his explanation was
not lucid. I gathered that he had in mind the complaint sometimes
45. heard that women have ceased to be women in order to become
inferior men; that they are getting hard and conceited; that they
turn up their noses at the domestic virtues, at marriage and the
whole conception of life as duty, and that they think only of having
“a good time.” The isolated instances given as grounds for this
complaint are, I am convinced, not typical. That women have
developed and broken through the far too narrow restrictions of a
hundred years ago is only a matter for thankfulness: something is
always lost in every adjustment, but more is gained if the
adjustment is natural. The flighty girl whom most grumblers of this
kind have in mind is only a fraction, and a very imperfect fraction, of
the Englishwoman. A far more serious line was taken by Henry
Adams towards the end of his life, when he became finally convinced
that he was a man of the eighteenth century living in an unfamiliar
world whose guiding forces he could not fathom. Musing over the
enormous mass of new forces put into the hand of man by the end
of the nineteenth century, he wondered what should be the result of
so much energy turned over to the use of women, according to the
scientific notions of force. He could not write down the equation.
The picture of the world that he saw was of man bending eagerly
over the steering wheel of a rushing motor car too intent on keeping
up a high speed and avoiding accidents to have leisure for any
distractions. The old attraction of the woman, one of the most
powerful forces of the past, had become a distraction, and woman,
no longer able to inspire men, had been forced to follow them.
Woman had been set free: as travellers, typists, telephone girls,
factory hands, they moved untrammelled in the world. But in what
direction were they moving? After the men, said Henry Adams;
discarding all the qualities for which men had no longer any interest
or pleasure, they too were bending over the steering wheel in the
same rapid career. Woman the rebel was now free and there was
only one thing left for her to rebel against, maternity, or the inertia
of sex, to speak in terms of force. Inertia of sex, the philosopher
truly remarked, could not be overcome without extinguishing the
race, yet an immense force was working irresistibly to overcome it.
What would happen? Henry Adams gave up the riddle, grateful for
46. the illusion that woman alone of all the species was unable to
change.
Superficial observers might say that this movement has been
accelerated by the war. Hundreds of homes have loosened their ties
in the stress of war, thousands of unrebellious daughters have left
their narrow walls at the call of patriotism and are now unwilling to
return to them. They have learnt to live in the herd with their own
sex, and prefer it to living with their own sex in the pen; physical
danger and discomfort are no longer bogeys to frighten them; they
have been “on their own,” and “on their own” they intend to stay. All
very true, no doubt, with the added complication of serious
competition between the sexes in a restricted labour market. At the
same time, these superficial observers forget that there has been an
extraordinary return to the traditional relations between men and
women during the war. The inspiration of the woman has never been
stronger; once more, after many years, men have fought for their
women and the women have regarded their champions with
gratitude; women have tended and worked for men in greater
numbers and with greater alacrity than ever before in the history of
the world; the comradeship between the sexes has grown warmer
and stronger without destroying the still more natural relation, for
marriage as an institution has enjoyed a season of abnormal
popularity. In a country at war, especially in a country invaded, men
and women return to the relations of extreme antiquity; the men
fight to protect the home and the family, which they alone can do. If
they are beaten, the home is destroyed and the women are
ravished.
We in England have escaped this last simplification: we have been
lucky, but we have lost the directness of the lesson. Nevertheless, it
is patent enough to thoughtful people. War has revealed men and
women pretty much as they always have been, and the revelation
will not be forgotten. The apprehensions of a Henry Adams, after the
five years of war, do, in fact, appear to be exaggerated. The futility
of all that vast array of mechanical force which so appalled him has
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